A Warrior's Way Of Life
by Bookwrm389
Summary: "Situations like this can make a man wish he hadn't woken up this morning." Damas, Jak and Daxter fight for their lives after a Dark Maker ship, literally, abducts them. Rated for violence, swearing, Dark Jak, the usual.


_A.N. Written because there's too much yaoi and not enough badassery in this fandom. And because I love these games and these characters. Despite the numerous plot holes and glitches and the many crappy missions, these are some of the best games I've ever played if only for sheer creativity and fun. This story is meant to pay homage to Jak 3 and to my all-time favorite character, Damas. Because, damn it, there should have been at least ONE mission where he and Jak fight back to back!_

_This really wasn't meant to get as long as it did. It started as an interesting little side story, but the idea kept expanding as I explored these characters. I feel like there's so much more to them than they give us in the games, and I really enjoyed writing about Jak and Daxter from Damas' perspective. It's funny because originally Daxter wasn't supposed to be IN this story, but halfway through writing, I realized it just wasn't complete without his little quips and anecdotes. And I had great fun writing his interaction with Damas._

A Warrior's Way Of Life

_Situations like this can make a man wish he hadn't woken up this morning,_ Damas thought grimly. But at least he was _thinking_ now and not mindlessly thrashing and cursing the restraints that held him captive. Panic was for children woken by nightmares, not warriors, and _not_ the king of Spargus. Damas breathed deeply and slowly, nearly retching on the reek of dark eco saturating the air. Never before had he been in a place where the noxious substance was so concentrated. Lesser men had suffocated on air like this so it was a safe bet he hadn't been captured by marauders.

And it wasn't metalheads either. These restraints were far superior to anything Damas had encountered save for the work of the Precursors. He lay flat on his back on a hard, cold surface that seemed elevated from the ground. His lower body was entirely encased in..._something_, though he couldn't see it properly due to the thick half circle of metal clamped around his neck and preventing him from looking anywhere but at a ceiling swathed in darkness. Similar shackles held his biceps, wrists and waist. He couldn't get an ounce of leverage to break them, and he would only exhaust himself trying.

No, definitely not the work of metalheads. They didn't have the foresight to take prisoners. Most of the time.

Heavy footsteps accompanied by guttural chattering made Damas freeze. It was close, but muffled as if by a wall. He strained to hear the words and perhaps find out what they had done with Jak and Daxter, but the language was nothing he recognized...no, wait. Damas listened a moment longer, realizing it _was _familiar. The words were similar to the ancient Precursor dialect that Seem and her monks studied, only oddly garbled.

Like the Precursors, but...not quite.

"Oh, you're _kidding_," Damas groaned as it all began to make sense. The sudden dimming of the desert stars, the swift and alien shape bearing down on their vehicle, Jak's startled curse and Daxter's terrified yelp.

_GAAAAH! Oh jeez, oh crap, it's those freaky octopus satellites again! It's the Dark Makers, Jak! THE DARK MAKERS!_

The Dark Makers. The abominations Seem had warned him about, the creatures whose arrival the Daystar heralded. Perhaps it should not have come as such a shock, but despite all the portents, Damas had put the distant threat out of his mind while he focused on keeping his city alive. There had been no use agonizing over it when there was nothing he could _do _about it, and besides, just because Seem was right _most _of the time didn't mean she was right _all _the time...

_And it's exactly that hidebound thinking that got you into this,_ he snarled inwardly. _Half of survival is preparation, the other half is strength and good fortune! So, old warrior, now that two of the three have failed, what will you do?_

Well, the _last _thing he would do was lie here and let them have him! Damas renewed his efforts to escape as the voices of the Dark Makers closed in. Somewhere a switch was thrown and the room illuminated by an odd grayish light. Damas took the opportunity to look around, and what he saw did not bode well. The thing encasing him appeared to be some kind of pod. The top half was open to the air, but only because no one had bothered to shut the domed glass lid. There were six other pods spaced around him, and the phrase _cryo chamber _sprang ominously to mind. Not that Damas had ever seen one, but the Precursors had been rumored to possess such things when they first began exploring and settling worlds.

But it was odd that he hadn't been frozen yet. Unless this was not meant to be an extended trip. Damas got the distinct impression the vessel they were in was moving, so maybe these pods were all the Dark Makers had in the way of restraints or prisons until they got wherever they were going.

Not that it was any comfort either way. He was still no closer to escaping.

A loud thump close at hand made him jump. That had come from within the room! Damas held very still as whatever it was moved around some more. A second thump, and then a gasp. "Oh, no. Oh _Precursors_, no—!"

"Jak!" Damas said in disbelief, and he could have kicked himself. Where _else_ would they have taken the young warrior? He must have been locked in one of the other pods, just as Damas was.

Jak didn't appear to hear him. Damas heard him struggling even more, swearing and spitting his fury when he couldn't break free. A series of bangs made the Dark Makers outside the chamber fall silent, and Damas knew they didn't have much time. "Jak, _stop it!_"

"Damas?" Jak rasped, and the naked fear his name was spoken with gave the king pause. Jak just didn't _get_ afraid, not of _anything_. "Damas, where the hell are we? Where's Daxter?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen him yet," Damas said, trying to sound calm but it only came off as fatalistic. "As for _where_...it looks to be a Dark Maker ship. Can you move at all? I'm a bit trussed up here."

"So am I and—those _bastards_, they took my gun too! I can't—damn it, I can't move! Dax, where are you? _Daxter!_"

"Jak, calm _down._"

"Calm _down?_" Jak demanded, still thrashing. "You expect me to _calm down _when my best friend is missing and they've got me like _this?_"

"You're damn right I do!" Damas shouted right back, craning to try and see the boy. "I expect you to pull yourself together and act like the seasoned warrior you are! Or is that too much to ask?"

"I-I'm trying," Jak said hoarsely, panting so hard he sounded close to hyperventilating. "Believe me, Damas, I'm trying, but...oh God, there's so much dark eco. I can't breathe, I can't _think_...i-it's just like back then, in the Baron's prison. It's _just like _back then!"

Damas' anger ebbed as both words and tone appealed to his long-buried paternal instincts. He had heard only snatches from Sig, a few hints from Daxter about the young warrior's past, but it was enough. Baron Praxis had possessed a sadistic streak that let him cross lines no ordinary man would, all in the name of conquering his enemies. Nothing had been above him, not even prisoner experimentation with dark eco. And if Jak was now being forced to relive those memories...

A wordless roar followed by a furious hiss. A lurid purple glow rose from a pod across the room, and lightning bolts spiked upward. Metal grinded on metal, but somehow Jak's restraints held. Damas gritted his teeth when he heard the Dark Makers approaching. They were much closer than before. "Jak, you listen to me now! You _cannot _transform here! Do you understand me? Don't you dare cross that line!"

"_Why not?_" Jak shot back, and now his voice carried that harsh, distinctive gruffness which meant he was on the verge of shifting to his more bestial self. "_If I do, I can SHATTER these damn restraints, then let's see them lock me up again—!_"

"If you change now, then _how the hell do you expect me to defend myself?_" Damas roared. That, if nothing else, seemed to get though because the brief pulse of power diminished. A door off to the side slid open with an automated whoosh, and Damas laid eyes on Dark Makers for the first time...and he was strangely disappointed. These creatures weren't much more intimidating than the standard metalhead. They walked on two legs, but they seemed more machine than biological. Machines didn't daunt him.

And at the moment, Jak was far more frightening than they were. The Dark Makers chittered in alarm at the snarls coming from Jak's pod and approached with weapons drawn. As they turned, Damas caught sight of something small and bright orange wiggling in one of their hands. Daxter paused in his efforts to squirm free at the sight of the glowing pod. "Jak, you're alive!"

No sooner had he said that than Jak's restraints gave way with a metallic shriek. A pale, grisly monster rose from the cryo pod and tackled the nearest Dark Maker. Damas lost sight of them when they hit the ground, but the shredding of metal gears and fleshy sinew left little to the imagination. The second Dark Maker began shooting wildly, but Jak was too fast, a whirlwind of rage and bloodlust. The Maker was picked up and _thrown _over Damas' pod. He watched with wide eyes as Jak hacked at the thing's violet armor, slitting open mechanical veins and splattering black blood over the walls, the ceiling...

...and then some of it splashed right in his eyes. Damas howled when the stuff seared like fire, shaking his head wildly from side to side. What the _Precursors _was in that thing's blood? He waited for the burning to subside before he opened his eyes, heart pounding when he saw nothing. The thing had _blinded _him.

A small thump right by his ear startled him. "_Man_, that stuff stings!" Daxter commiserated, using his scarf to mop up the blood. "Hold still while I get it off. How're the eyes?"

"I can't see," Damas rasped, and the ottsel summed it up nicely with his next words.

"Oh, _craaap_. Are, uh...are ya sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"W-Well, Jak'll think of something!" Daxter said with forced optimism, now tugging at the shackle on his arm. "Or maybe Sig can hook ya up with whoever got him that high-tech eye of his! Man, science sure has come a long way since...uh anyway, we'll fix ya up in no time! Right, Jak? Uh, Jak...?"

By then, all was silent save for a faint growling and the crackle of dark eco. Daxter quivered by his cheek and scrambled over his chest. "Whoa, whoa, _whoa!_ Jak, wait a sec buddy! Damas ain't a bad guy! He's actually kinda alright, s-so let's _not_ rip him to shreds, 'kay? J-Just take a step back, _please _I'm beggin' ya—!"

Damas didn't need eyes to tell him what was about to happen. "Get me free, rat!" he barked. "Now, hurry!"

"I, uh," Daxter stammered, frustratingly indecisive. "M-maybe I can still talk him down! Trust me, Sandman, you'd stand _no _chance even if I—hey, _hey!_ Quit manhandling the goods, Jak! Wait..._wait,_ _NO!_"

Damas choked when a clawed hand closed around his throat and squeezed, forcing his head back. His head swam dizzily, stars exploding before sightless eyes. He searched the darkness fruitlessly for the young warrior's face, horror paralyzing him. Jak's trust had been hard won these past months, his loyalty more so, but the animal he was now recognized no master, not even Damas. Daxter's hysterical wails filled his ears as Damas waited for fangs to tear him open or claws to gut him.

Neither of those things happened. Instead, fingers slipped beneath the shackle around his neck and ripped it off. One by one, Jak did the same for the rest of the shackles until Damas was free. The king staggered out of the cryo pod and propped himself against it shakily, uncertain in his new state. He listened as Jak moved off, prowling around the corpses with curious sniffs and snorts. If Damas hadn't known better, he'd have thought he was standing near a wild boar and not a boy turned beast.

Hopefully, the same principle applied. He was safe enough as long as he made no sudden movements.

"_Jeez_ Jak, don't scare me like that!" Daxter scolded angrily from somewhere by Damas' feet. "By the way, if ya lick up any of that blood you're sniffin', I am _never _sharing a canteen with you again! You alright, Damas?"

"More or less," Damas replied, rubbing his neck. He squinted at Jak's skulking form. "Does he often show mercy in this form?"

"Pretty much never," Daxter said matter-of-factly. "But hey, I ain't complainin'! Kinda weird that he hasn't changed back though, now that he's calm...I mean, calm_er_. Usually Big Darkie only shows his mug long enough to lay the smackdown on whatever pissed him off that day. Or that week."

Damas blinked. "Big Darkie? That's what you call it?"

Daxter snickered, and Damas could easily picture the ottsel's grin. "Among other things. Darkie Boy, Count Darkula, Tall, Dark and Gruesome, take your pick. Help's me remember it's really my buddy in there, see? By the way, should we really just be standing around here? That fight's gonna attract some attention, I'm bettin'."

"Most likely," Damas said absently, thinking fast. Daxter may have been confused by Jak's continued transformation, but Damas had a feeling their surroundings were to blame. With a constant supply of dark eco to absorb, maybe he _couldn't _revert to his true self until the excess was exhausted. They were lucky he could still differentiate between friend and foe. Or at least neutral and foe.

That meant Jak wouldn't be good for much of anything at the moment. And since Daxter was...well _Daxter_, it was up to Damas to take the lead. He touched the ruined skin around his eyes gingerly. The damage wasn't as bad as he'd initially feared. His peripheral vision was partly preserved. He could still process movement, though all he really saw were vague shapes and the merest suggestion of light and dark. Nothing more detailed than that.

But he _could _see. If he could see, he could fight and perhaps survive. Damas grinned savagely. A blind warrior and a young man that was halfway to Dark Maker himself versus a horde of enemies. That was one for his monks' chronicles, if they made it that far.

"Hey, now," Daxter said suspiciously. "I _know _that loony grin you're sportin'! That's the same one Jak had before he made me go on that crazy-ass glider! And before that race with Kleiver, _and_ right before Misty Island too! Now stop it, you're freakin' me out!"

Damas squatted down to his level. "Listen to me carefully, Daxter. The first thing I need is for you to find me a weapon—"

"_Ohh_, no!" Daxter protested. "No way! You can't seriously expect me to hand a _blind guy _a gun! That there's a recipe for disaster!"

"Look rat, we haven't got a lot of options here," Damas said impatiently. He pointed at his shoulder. "So either you hop up here and help me find my way or take up the gun yourself and defend us from the Dark Makers. Which will it be?"

"Arrgh, fine, _fine!_" Daxter groused, and he scampered away. Glass shattered somewhere and soon the ottsel returned and pressed a morph gun into his hands. Most likely Jak's own weapon. It took some trial and error to decode the colored cartridges, and Damas loaded up the red eco and switched the mod to Scatter Shot. The other mods, he stowed in the ammo pouches on his belt. He had no chance with the other accuracy-based mods, and he didn't dare try the peacemaker. He held still as Daxter clambered up his arm to perch on his left shoulder. He weighed significantly less than Damas expected, which was a relief because he wouldn't have to compensate much as he fought.

"Happy now?" Daxter muttered in his ear sullenly. "Yeesh, I'm surrounded by trigger-happy lunatics! You and Jak are in _serious_ need of some therapy! Ya know, I think they offer group discounts in Haven..."

He was cut off by a vicious rumbling from Jak's direction. Damas raised his weapon warily, fearing Jak had decided he was a threat after all, but Daxter tugged on his ear. "He's lookin' at the door! I think something's coming!"

"Tell me when they're in range," Damas ordered quietly when he could hear the heavy, clomping steps for himself.

"Jak's in the way!"

"Then tell me when he's _not _in the way! I'm _blind_, remember?"

"Whoops, I forgot...whoa, here they are! Looks like three, four, _five _of those Maker things! Get 'em, Jak!"

Jak didn't wait for direction, launching himself into the fight with a furious howl. Damas hunkered down by the cryo pod, trying to keep track of the murky, indistinct shapes, but it was impossible to tell Jak from the Dark Makers. He heard the death cry of one Maker, then Jak's roars faded around a corner. Daxter cried out. "They're coming for us! Shoot, _shoot!_"

Damas fired off several rounds in quick succession, ears ringing at the deafening _booms_ of the discharged eco. At Daxter's frightened, "_Look out!_" Damas ducked and felt the wind of a blow that would have crushed his skull. He returned with a punch of his own right into what felt like its face, and then on a hunch, he spun around and shot a Maker that had been sneaking up behind him. The next minute or so was a frenzy of blind shooting and desperate hand-to-hand with only Daxter's directions to depend on.

"Two right in front of ya! Yeah, nice shot! _Ack_, that one's still moving! On your left—no, the other left! No wait, the first left again—!"

"_Just point me in the right direction!_" Damas bellowed, and Daxter nearly ripped his hair out jerking his head sideways. Two more quick shots and he heard his target slump to the ground. Damas reloaded and waited in the silence, every muscle strung tight with adrenaline. They _sounded _dead...that is to say, they didn't sound alive anymore. "Did we get them all? Well?"

"...your shoulders are _massive_."

"Come again?" Damas said incredulously.

To his bemusement, he felt the ottsel recline against his neck. "It's like I'm sittin' on a throne up here! _Man,_ why can't Jak have shoulders like this? He's been the same scrawny build since he was fifteen! And you'd think with all the fightin' he does, he'd be built like a friggin' tank—"

"_Daxter_..."

"Oh alright, alright! Door's right behind ya. Watch your step, carnage is everywhere. And, uh...it looks like Jak took off on us."

"That's not good," Damas muttered. He treaded carefully across the chamber until his free hand found a wall and then a keypad. He pressed it and followed the current of air marking the opening of the door. "I don't like to think that we could turn a corner and accidentally attack him. Or him, us."

"Relax, Jak won't do anything with me up here!" Daxter assured him with sickening confidence. "I'm your fuzzy orange talisman! Oh, speaking of..."

Daxter jumped down, and Damas waited impatiently for the ottsel to settle back on his shoulder, waving something in his face. "Jak must've dropped his amulet thingamabob while all the fightin' was going on. Look, see?"

"No," Damas snorted in irritation.

"Oh right, the eyes...well, just take my word for it then! He went left."

Damas left the cryo chamber behind and crept onward. His steps echoed in a small space, giving him the impression they were moving through a narrow corridor. Keeping the morph gun ready, he trailed his free hand over the wall and encountered a series of conduits very like the veins of the Dark Makers. He swore he could sense the liquid heat of their blood. Was this entire vessel alive? Not a pleasant thought.

"So what's the plan anyway?" Daxter murmured nervously, fidgeting on Damas' shoulder. "There _is _a plan, right?"

"Aside from finding Jak, we search for the place where they control the ship," Damas replied in a low voice. "We lock ourselves in and pilot this damn thing back to the Wasteland before the Dark Makers can stop us. Let's just hope there aren't many enemies between here and there."

"Or maybe we'll get lucky and Jak'll take them out first!"

"Has it occurred to you that 'Jak will take care of it' is not always the answer?" Damas asked him sardonically. "We need to focus on our own problems first. For instance, how to fly this ship if Jak doesn't return to us within a reasonable amount of time."

"Hey, what am I, chopped liver?" Daxter protested. "I backseat drive for Jak all the time! I can _totally _handle this puppy, it'll be just like driving the zoomers in Haven City..._whooaaa..._"

Damas paused. "What is it?"

Daxter gulped audibly and pointed his chin to the right, sounding quite timorous for a change. "I ah, just made the mistake of looking out that window over there. And looking _down_."

The king couldn't hold back a snicker. "Afraid of heights, rat? I thought you said you could handle it."

"Yeah well, that was _before _I looked down and realized I could see _continents!_" Daxter squeaked out. "And _stars!_ And the curve of the freakin' _earth!_ We're on a one-way trip to outer space!"

That was _not _the news Damas wanted to hear. He breathed deeply to clear his mind, forcing down panic. "Tell me, how long has it been since we were captured?"

"Um," Daxter said, too shaken to question the inquiry. "I dunno, a couple hours maybe? I was knocked out for a bit and by the time I came 'round, they were taking you guys away. That one that had me just kinda carried me around for awhile, like he didn't know what to make of me. Which, as we all know, was a mistake seeing as _I'm_ the most dangerous out of all of us! Really, I was _seconds_ away from giving 'im a taste of Orange Lightning before Jak stole the spotlight, as usual..."

"A couple of hours," Damas said under his breath. He picked up the pace to a slow jog. "All the Precursor records I've read indicate that space travel is a very precise science. It takes time to plot a course, which means we're probably still in orbit around the planet. If we're going to turn this thing around, it had better be sooner rather than later."

"I second that motion!" Daxter quipped. "Right then, continuing with our _Tour de Creepy Ship._ To our left, we've got a coupla dim and scary hallways, but I vote we keep goin' straight. Looks like we be comin' up on a pretty big room now...wow, that's a _big_ room!"

"Very eloquent," Damas said dryly, their voices rebounding from much further away now. "Anything else I should know? Are there any enemies?"

"Negative on the enemies, Mr. Sandking," Daxter informed him. "But try to walk in a straight line, 'kay? This bridge only goes in one direction, and if ya stray too far we could end up...um, plunging into a dark abyss of nothingness."

_How does Jak stand this?_ Damas wondered to himself. He took each step cautiously now, his entire fate unwillingly placed in the jumpy ottsel's hands. In here it was easier to hear faint noises from other areas of the ship, and he thought he heard Jak at one point. His grip on the morph gun tightened. Worry was futile, but he offered up a silent prayer for his young warrior anyway.

By Daxter's estimations, they were nearly across the bridge when a low hum began building up behind them. Damas spun around, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't see what was coming. Daxter yelped and clung to his neck. "_HIT THE DECK!_"

Damas dropped flat just as something large and multi-limbed swooped low. A sharp talon clipped his arm and sent him tumbling off the bridge. Damas flailed out wildly and managed to grab a conduit with one hand, his other preoccupied with keeping possession of the morph gun. The Dark Makers cackled as he dangled there, and Damas could just glimpse the winged creatures flitting in and out of view as they gloated over their helpless prey.

"Yeah, well _up yours too!_" Daxter snapped, surprising Damas when he realized the ottsel hadn't fallen after all. He adjusted his grip on the conduit, teeth bared angrily. There was a time and place for caution, and that was not when one was faced with certain death.

He thrust the gun over his shoulder. "Peacemaker. _Now_."

"_P-Peacemaker?_" Daxter squawked. "F-Fine, it's your funeral!"

Daxter scrambled over his shoulder and fumbled with the pouches on his belt. Damas waited until he heard the ottsel clip another mod on the gun, taking vindictive pleasure in the deadly hum of the peacemaker. He charged it to half capacity and waited for those flapping wings to close in, accompanied by distorted screeches eerily similar to battle cries. Daxter put a hand on the gun to fine tune his aim, and Damas grunted his thanks. "Brace yourself, rat."

"Women and children, take cover!" Daxter announced to the abyss.

Damas released the trigger, bracing himself for the backlash. A string of spectacular explosions heralded his victory, and Daxter whooped deliriously. "Take _that!_ Whoo! Ya oneshot 'em, Damas, and without even _seeing_ 'em!I don't think even Jak coulda done that!"

"I suppose I'll take that as a compliment," Damas smirked. He tossed the peacemaker back onto the bridge and heaved himself up. "I'm getting far too old for this," he complained.

"Ya know what, we make a pretty good team," Daxter told him like it was the greatest compliment in the world. "Not as good as Jak and me, of course, but you're okay. You really should get off that throne once in awhile, go for a spin around the desert and bash some skulls in. Show the world what you're made of!"

_Been there, done that,_ his younger self boasted haughtily. They crossed the bridge without incident, and the door on the other side yielded an elevator. Once inside, Daxter worked the controls for him, and the elevator began its slow ascent. Damas flattened himself to the wall so he wouldn't be clearly visible and waited. When the elevator stopped and the doors opened again, he held his breath as something lurched inside.

Daxter bounded off his shoulder with a joyous cry. "Jak, you're back to normal! Thank the Precursors!"

"What the—Dax!" Jak gasped. "Damas! Are you guys okay?"

"We're surviving," Damas said and lowered the gun as he stepped forward. He heard Jak draw a sharp breath.

"Damas, your eyes..."

"I'm aware of that," Damas told him dourly. "_Believe_ me."

"Oh, chill out, Jak!" Daxter piped in. "Even without being able to see, he was kickin' ass! He wasted _three _Dark Makers at once just a second ago, and that's not even counting those other ones that came after us! Boy, you talk about fightin' like a Wastelander...oh, by the way, you dropped this back at the freaky pod room..."

Jak's silence behind Daxter's ranting made Damas very aware that the younger man was probably staring at his eyes in horror and pity. Before either of them could say anything, the elevator began ascending once more. This time the trip was much shorter, and when the doors opened, Damas heard instant upheaval in the next room. Jak shoved him against the wall just in time to avoid the barrage of gunshots that filled the air with smoke.

"Gun!" Jak ordered, and Damas handed it over without hesitation. According to Wastelander law, the best fighter always got the best weapon, and right now that was Jak. Damas stayed under cover as Jak left his side and the mayhem in the next room escalated, wishing he could see the fight. It was always an incredible thing to witness, the way Jak wove through throngs of enemies and adapted instantly to the changing situation, never pausing until he was the last one standing.

"Hey, I think this is that place we were looking for!" Daxter spoke up unexpectedly from his knee. "I see a bunch of consoles with lots of colorful switches and dials. And check out that view! I think I can see the Naughty Ottsel from here!"

"What are you doing here?" Damas demanded. "You should be helping Jak!"

"Uh, Jak wanted me to stay with you? Come on, he's doin' just fine! _You're_ the one who needs—_ahh!_"

Something struck Damas in the jaw and sent him sprawling. At the same time, he heard Daxter's small body slam into the back wall of the elevator. Jak's frantic shout rose above the fighting. "_Daxter!_"

Damas spat blood from his mouth, glaring up at the Dark Maker he couldn't see but could certainly sense standing over the ottsel. He tackled the creature with a fierce yell, rolling them both into the next room. A gunshot went off far too close at hand, and Damas hissed when the blast scorched his side. He tried to wrestle the weapon away, but ended up losing his grip on it and having it skitter out of reach.

But someone else could reach it.

"_Oi, ugly!_" Daxter taunted. "_Got yer gun, sucker!_"

"Dax, _no!_" Jak yelled, but not soon enough to stop Daxter from unleashing whatever weapon he'd managed to lay hands on. And it soon became apparent that he didn't have a clue _how_ to use it. Damas kept his head down and prayed as multiple blasts shot every which way, some so close he felt the heat of their passing, taking out consoles and Makers indiscriminately. A dozen warning bells went off, and the floor shuddered as multiple power surges shook the vessel to pieces.

"Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, oh crap!" Daxter chanted over and over. "We're going down, _we're going down!_"

"I _know _that!" Jak snapped. Damas felt an arm hook under his and heave him into the nearest chair. The king clutched his side as he was lowered, refusing to utter a sound in spite of the pain. Jak tried to move his hand to get a look at the injury, but Damas waved him off.

"I'll live. Just see what you can do about landing this thing!"

"Right," Jak said, and he moved away. For a moment, there was only the faint blips of the controls to tell Damas what was happening. The Dark Maker vessel whined miserably, like it was verbally protesting being put to work, but Jak's angry swear and punch combo seemed to quell any further dissent. The ship plunged into a steep dive, a steady roar building up as a computerized voice said something about dangerous reentry sequences and suggested that aborting would be a _very _good idea.

"Oh man, this is bad," Jak said after several long, harrowing minutes. "We're in the atmosphere now, but damn, we're going too fast! I don't think we'll hold together!"

"_Don't think we'll hold together?_" Daxter repeated in panic. "Are you telling me our last moments are gonna be spent as a shooting star for some little Havenite kid to make a wish on?"

_I wonder if Mar will see it,_ Damas thought giddily, shutting his eyes as he leaned his head back. Yep, this definitely felt like shock. The burn on his side must be worse than he thought.

"_Ahh_, Jak! It's still alive!"

_It _must have referred to one of the fallen Dark Makers because the next thing Damas knew he was hauled out of the chair and flung against a window. The glass splintered ominously at his back, spiderweb fractures spreading beneath his palms. Damas held his ground as the shadowy specter loomed closer, one hand gripping the window frame so the turbulence wouldn't sent him sprawling.

"_Shoot it_, Jak!"

But the peacemaker was out of ammo. Damas knew when he heard the muted _click _that had spelled many a warrior's death in the past. But at this point, he felt nothing like dread. Death was all but a certainty now. So he grinned predatorily when the Dark Maker's steps closed in, quickening to an all-out charge as Jak uttered a strangled cry. "Farewell, Jak," he murmured.

"_DAMAS!_"

When the Dark Maker collided with him, Damas locked arms with it and used its momentum to carry them both into the window, which promptly shattered under their combined weights. He felt a sickening lurch in his gut as he tumbled into empty, bitterly cold air and continued to fall and fall and fall. The Maker parted ways with him after the first few seconds, its mortal cries lost in the roaring wind that rendered Damas deaf as well as blind. He gave himself up to his fate, eyes shut, arms outspread, already losing consciousness from the lack of oxygen at this altitude.

Perhaps that was a relief.

A flicker of brightness above him. And that was such a surprise that it made Damas snap his eyes wide open. The flicker grew to a flame, then a blaze. While Damas was still debating whether it was real or not, it caught up to him, and he gasped when he was enveloped in bright, blistering _light_. No, _eco_. It was so intense, so unbelievably vibrant, that Damas thought he would be consumed by it. And for an instant, he _saw _the sky and the earth far below, the wisps of clouds racing by...

...and a glowing creature with translucent wings and vivid, depthless eyes.

And then he saw nothing at all.

* * *

><p>It seemed a long time passed before Damas came back to himself, unable to find his bearings in the slowly revolving darkness. But something shifted in his mind, and he finally processed that he was no longer falling. Once more, he awoke flat on his back, but this time on cool sand. Damas dug his fingers through the fine grit as other things were made known to his senses. The gentle trickle of water, the faint trace of minerals on the air and the heady scent of the desert night flowers. A gradually building warmth to his right told him the dawn had broken not long ago.<p>

Damas sighed. Aside from the tiny scorpion crawling over the back of his hand, it was good to be home. Very slowly and deliberately, he moved that hand from his chest to the ground so the poisonous critter could meander off. Searching fingers went from the torn cloth made into crude bandages on his side and upper arm to the damp scarf folded over his eyes, confused. Someone must have done this, but who...?

Heavy footfalls treaded the sand, and someone crouched at his side. "Damas?" a drained voice inquired.

"Jak?" Damas said hoarsely. He attempted to rise. "Where...? How...?"

"Wait," Jak told him and slid an arm around his shoulders to ease him upright. A canteen was presented to his lips, and Damas drank from it gratefully before he lay back down. He would have preferred to stay up, but the burn on his side ached something fierce and he had a feeling Jak wouldn't let him anyway. So much as he despised his weakness, he remained where he was and asked the first question on his mind.

"How the _Precursors _are we still alive?"

Jak sighed above him, giving Damas the impression of exhaustion. "It's...a little hard to explain. I'm still trying to convince myself I pulled it off."

"Pull _what _off?" Damas said suspiciously. "The last thing I remember, I was falling. Then...I'm sure it was a dream, but it seemed that _something _caught me. Something not quite human."

"Close enough, I guess," Jak said with a wry chuckle. "I think I told you awhile back that I've been visiting the Precursor temple up on the mountain? Practicing channeling light eco to have more control over the dark?"

Damas nodded, frowning. "Yes, you did, though you've been rather tight-lipped on your progress. So that _was _you who saved me?"

"It's one of my...incarnations, I guess you would call it," Jak explained quietly. "When I have enough light eco stored up and the need is great, I can undergo a transformation like I do with the dark. Instead of fangs and claws, I gain wings and a minor healing ability."

"You can _fly?_"

"It's more like gliding," Jak disowned quickly. "Kinda useless most of the time, actually. It was all I could do to slow us down, and if we hadn't landed in water..."

Jak let him draw his own conclusions, and Damas remained silent while he absorbed this new development. From the moment this young man stepped foot in Spargus, he had never ceased to amaze the king. First with his superior athletic ability and mastery of guns and vehicles, then on top of that the ability to absorb a substance that would kill most men and use it to fight like a demon. And now _this_.

"We'll discuss this once we're back in Spargus," Damas said at last. "You're permitted to have your secrets, Jak, but I _need_ to know what each of my warriors is capable of, not only to utilize them to the best of their abilities but to prevent those less capable from getting in over their heads. Knowing you can channel light eco, I could have let you have access to the core vent in Spargus before I sent you out on dangerous missions."

"There's a light eco vent in _Spargus?_" Jak sputtered indignantly. "One I could have been _using _instead of hiking all the way up that damn mountain?"

Damas smirked. "See what happens when you keep your mouth shut? Don't do it again."

Jak muttered a string of colorful expletives no doubt learned from the retired fighters in Spargus. Damas chuckled, enjoying this rare moment of peace after such a narrow escape. True, they were still stranded in the desert, but they had water and Damas had his beacon, so at the moment there wasn't much to worry about. He dug a hand in his belt pouch and unearthed the old relic, holding it out. "Here. If you activate that, we should expect a rescue within an hour or two provided there are no storms brewing."

"Can we wait a little while?" Jak asked him. "I don't want to leave Dax stranded out here. He thinks our vehicle isn't far from here, and he volunteered to go get it. I think he felt bad about almost blowing us up."

"You let that rat go off on his own in the Wasteland?" Damas said with a degree of concern he was sure he wouldn't have felt half a day ago.

"I gave him my Jetboard," Jak said, but with misgiving. "At the very least, he should be able to outrun anything dangerous...I hope."

"We'll give him until midmorning," Damas decided. "Any longer and we risk dying of heatstroke."

"I know," Jak said darkly, most likely remembering his own ordeal when he was banished months ago. "And...thanks, by the way. For protecting him. Not many people bother to do that."

The gratitude was as genuine as he'd ever heard, and Damas smiled slightly as he touched his covered eyes. "I owed him, truly. It's thanks to him I made it as far as I did. I think I'm beginning to understand what you see in that rat. He's no fighter, but he's a faithful comrade all the same."

"There's not a disloyal or treacherous bone in his body," Jak said warmly. But he still sounded preoccupied. "Damas, about...about your eyes. I'm..."

"Don't say it, Jak," Damas said at once. He had seen this coming, and he held up a hand to forestall argument. "This is _not _your fault. My luck simply ran out, that's all. And I'd say I got off lightly."

"You call this _lightly?_" Jak protested vehemently. "Damas, you're _blind!_ When the others in Spargus find out...you said it yourself, it's all about strength and survival. What if they decide to throw you out because you can't fight anymore?"

"Oh, I can't?" Damas said with a wicked grin. "Did you not hear Daxter when he said I 'wasted' three Dark Makers? Where did that phrase _wasted _come from, by the way? Is it Haven slang?"

"Damas," Jak said helplessly, and Damas sighed heavily. He could perfectly picture Jak's expression now. A blend of pointless rage and equally pointless guilt along with the devastation of a child seeing his idol fall. How ironic, that the hero of Haven City should look to an outlaw like _him _as his own personal hero. Jak had been doing well enough on his own before he met Damas, but teetering on the edge between true warrior and mere hired gun.

And no wonder. The boy had spent his entire life without a father to tell him, _This is what a hero is, this is what it means to be one_. It was amazing he'd retained as many morals as he had—certainly more than Damas when _he _was banished all those years ago. Damas had seen the beginnings of respect and veneration in Jak's eyes not long after his second arena battle and had seen no reason to discourage it. There was no harm, the king had told himself, in letting Jak glean some guidance from him. And if the relationship also eased his own painful yearning for his lost son...well, what was the harm of that either?

"I know what you're thinking," Damas said in the heavy silence. "It's inconceivable to you that someone like _me _should have to spend the rest of my life as a cripple."

Jak made a noise as if to protest the use of that word. "Damas, you're _not—_"

"You are young, Jak," Damas said softly, gazing into the darkness that had become his world. "You've accepted death as a possible outcome of the lifestyle we lead, but you've not yet grasped that it's not always a clean-cut line between life and death. People get hurt or ill, sometimes too badly to recover. They lose their sight, their hearing, or even a limb...and suddenly they can no longer be what they were. And now that you've seen such a thing can happen—to _me_, of all people—you think you would rather die than face such a fate."

"...did you pick up mindreading in exchange for sight?" Jak said dully. Damas listened to him tracing patterns in the sand sadly, remembering well when he had gone through this exact same realization and his own struggle to accept it.

"I know because I once thought as you do," Damas went on. "I've seen many good men and women faced with situations like mine. Some found new purpose. Others found...ways to end their lives. Here in the Wasteland, a severely wounded warrior has the right to ask that he be taken into the desert and abandoned without his beacon. I could ask it of you right this moment, and by our law, you could not refuse."

Jak's absolute stillness expressed his horror far better than words could. Damas' lips quirked in amusement. "I am not quite such a martyr, Jak. Maybe I can't hit a target anymore, but I still have my health and my wits. There's a wealth of knowledge in this head of mine, and because I have long since proven my citizenship, I am entitled to a retired life where I can still be of use to the next king. And should there be any doubters who dare to call me worthless, blind or not, I'll gladly take them on in the arena!"

The young warrior's laugh was filled with relief as well as humor. "I pity the poor bastard who thinks he could take you on," he snickered.

"So do I," Damas agreed. He swallowed and licked dry lips. "I could use some more water before the sun gets too high."

"Oh yeah, sure," Jak said quickly. "I'll fill the canteen back up."

"And make sure you have some yourself!" Damas called after him. He rubbed his eyes through the scarf. Now that it was starting to dry out, it itched unpleasantly, and eventually he removed it from sheer irritation.

And he was immediately bewildered at the sight of the blue sky high above him. Damas' eyes roved over the sheltered oasis, jaw hanging in a most undignified manner and heedless of the stinging glare of the morning sunlight off the sand and water. He propped himself on his elbows until he could see Jak filling the canteen from the small stream that fed the spring. Jak stood up and, meeting his eyes, his own jaw dropped in an exact reflection of the king.

Damas huffed. "Well...that renders _my_ little speech entirely moot."

"But...but _how?_" Jak stammered, sprinting closer. "T-There's no way it could have been _me_. Could it? I _know _I can't heal other people with light eco."

"Then it must have been me," Damas replied. He held up his hand to gaze at his palm in thought. "Perhaps I channeled a portion of the eco and it went to work on its own, countering the effect of the Dark Maker blood. How interesting."

"_You _can channel?" Jak said, eyebrows flying up.

"Only on a very instinctual level," Damas said with a shrug. "Nothing close to what you can do."

Jak shook his head in mute amazement. "Yeah, but still..."

The sound of tires crunching sand reached them, and Jak and Damas both looked toward the dunes. "That must be Dax," Jak said and held out a hand. Damas took it and with some difficulty managed to stand upright with an arm slung over Jak's shoulders for support. Not that he needed it. He could have walked if he had to, but Jak's concern was endearing. And there were no witnesses.

"Damas," Jak said quietly, catching his eye. "Just so you know...if it ever came to the arena, you wouldn't fight alone. Not ever."

"That...means a great deal to me," Damas said and did his best to ignore the tightness in his throat. It was dehydration, surely. Jak saved his dignity by looking away to watch the top of the dunes expectantly. Damas wondered at first why he couldn't hear the engine at all until the vehicle crested the dune and he got his answer. For instead of being driven...the Sand Shark was being towed by a pack of leaper lizards tied to the front bumper by long ropes looped around their necks. The leapers chirped and croaked enthusiastically as they bounded over and around each other, the vehicle rolling along placidly behind them.

"Are my eyes working right?" Damas said in blank surprise.

"As much as mine are," Jak said, slightly flustered. "I can't believe I didn't think of it. It's not like Daxter can reach the gas pedal."

"_On with ya, on with ya!_" Daxter urged the leapers from his place perched on the hood. When the Shark was nearly to the base of the dune, he made a running jump into the front seat and vanished below the steering wheel to hit the brake. The vehicle halted so abruptly that many of the leapers were jerked off their feet, but they forgave the ottsel when he untied the ropes and allowed them to rush for the water, stumbling over themselves in their eagerness.

Daxter hopped onto the sand and struck a pose against one of the wheels. "You folks look like you could use a ride," he said smugly. "Just so ya know, my rates ain't cheap!"

"Great job, Dax!" Jak said as he helped Damas limp over to the vehicle and climb in. While Jak went around to the driver's side, Daxter stared at Damas with his head cocked to one side curiously.

Damas narrowed his eyes at the ottsel. "What?"

"Hey, you can see again!" Daxter cheered, but right away crossed his arms in deliberation. "Hmm, better make sure there wasn't any permanent damage. Quick, how many fingers?"

Damas snorted at the middle finger raised flippantly in his direction and immediately returned in kind. Daxter busted out laughing as he bounded onto Jak's shoulder. "Oh yeah, the Sandking is back, baby!"

"_Daxter_," Jak said in warning, but couldn't quite hide his smile. Daxter tossed him the keys as the young warrior slid into the driver's seat like a bird returning to its nest, completely at home. Damas couldn't stop himself from glancing around in case more dark ships came their way, but the skies were clear and the way home directly before them. He allowed himself to relax as Jak turned the key in the ignition and the engine revved...

...and immediately sputtered and died.

Jak frowned, sharing a glance with Damas. He tried again, but that still yielded no results. As one, Jak and Damas leaned out of the vehicle and examined the wet trail of fuel that extended from underneath the Sand Shark and snaked up the dune and out of sight, the result of some overenthusiastic desert vermin that had taken advantage of a vehicle left too long unattended.

Daxter giggled nervously from Jak's shoulder. "Well ah, hehe...least we still got that beacon!"

Jak folded his arms on the steering wheel and buried his face in them jadedly. Damas knew exactly how he felt as he swallowed his pride and reluctantly dug out his beacon to call for a rescue.


End file.
